


The Sense of Her

by SleepySappho



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Biting, Cute, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Gay, Lesbian Adora (She-Ra), Lesbian Catra (She-Ra), Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Love, Marriage, Morning Cuddles, No Dialogue, Post-Canon, Sex, The smut's in chapter two, Wives, mindfullness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25062166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepySappho/pseuds/SleepySappho
Summary: Adora wakes up before her wife and takes some time to enjoy a quiet moment together
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 585





	1. Words To Love By: Part 1

Catra is _soft._

That's the simple truth of it, the terrible secret that Catra kept all her years in the Horde and which, even now, only a select few are privy to. The fact that, if you can somehow manage to find your way past her instinctive rage and her sharp, cold, claws, you'll find nothing but a vast expanse of warm, _soft,_ fur.

This is the secret that Adora has carried in her heart since the first time Catra brushed against her skin and did not pull away, a small and precious fact that has been lodged in her chest, sometimes painfully, for nearly her entire life.

Adora can barely a remember a time when she was not aware of this fact, and yet—

_And yet—_

It still feels like a revelation each morning she wakes with her face pressed into the thick, silky fur of Catra's chest, moving with the slow rise and fall of her lover's breath, purrs gently massaging her cheek.

Adora is still an early riser, will always be, but instead of leaping out of bed to hone her skills as a soldier or plan a daring Rebellion raid or simply make an appearance at some event as She-Ra, she spends those precious moments when she is awake and her wife is not staying very quiet and perfectly still, taking it in.

Perfuma had taught what she called "mindfulness techniques" to Catra, and later Adora, simple mental exercises designed to help ground them during moments of overwhelming stress or a traumatic flashback. She hasn't had an attack like that in almost half a year now, but she's come to use those tools in other ways, to help her stop thinking and be present in moments like these, to keep herself focused on the pleasure and the joy of being alive and in love and happy and not on whether she deserves any of those things.

_Sight._

Adora flutters one eye open briefly. It's still early in the morning, only the barest hints of light beginning to peek around the edges of their heavy curtains, barely enough to see by even if half her face hadn't been pressed directly into her wife's chest. With her right eye she can barely make out part of Catra's silhouette. For so long Adora had always associated Catra with sleekness, all smooth curves and sharp claws striking out of the shadows, but she knows better now. Under her clothes, Catra's fur changes her outline, softens it. Here in the dark, there is practically no boundary between Catra and the room around them. Her silhouette bleeds easily into the dying shadows of morning.

Adora lets her eye close once more.

_Smell_.

Catra smells _incredible_. 

This is far from a new discovery for Adora, although it had taken some time for her to realize the ever present smell she loved so much came from Catra, specifically. It wasn't until the first time Catra was sent on an overnight work detail and Adora was not, when she tossed and turned in her cot unable to rest, when she finally took her pillow and lay down with her head at the foot of the bed, face pressing into the nest of sheets where Catra had been curled up the night before, that it came to her. 

Catra's scent was different now than when they were children. Cleaner, certainly, now that she was allowed to wash on her own terms without the caustic Horde-issued soap matted into her fur. Brighter, with a tinge of the scented oil Perfuma had gifted her a few years previously and which Catra had steadily refused to admit she used daily (until, that is, Adora caught her trying to sneak off to Plumeria to ask for a new bottle). 

But it was the same, too, warm and rich and wonderful. Catra smelled like a patch of wild, fertile, forest in the middle of a smog-choked factory. Catra smelled like their room bathed in sunlight, warmth soaking into the dark wood and rich red carpet. Catra smelled like getting lost together in the stacks of George and Lance's library, searching for secrets that no one has spoken aloud in centuries.

Catra smelled like a home built from living wood and half-tamed magic and the slow labor of their own hands, like a love half-broken but _never_ destroyed, like sobbed apologies and quiet reassurances and fears acknowledged and assuaged. 

And despite the years they spent at each other's throats, the pain and the anger and the heartbreak, Catra smelled like _safety_ , and like Home.

_Hearing._

Catra purrs in her sleep. Not always, certainly not when she's wrapped up in another nightmare of angry red lightning or sickly green pools, but more now than she used to. She's purring this morning, only just barely, a gentle vibration stirred with every exhale. With Adora's head so close to Catra's chest, she can also hear a quiet, almost whimpering sound as Catra breathes, halfway between a snore and a sigh. There are occasional grunts as Catra shifts in her sleep, and once even a _snort_ that Adora instantly knows she will treasure the memory of for the rest of her life. 

_Taste_.

Adora can feel her face flushing when she realizes the taste lingering on her tongue still, but she's thankful for it, glad she hasn't found a sense presently occupied with anything as trivial as Not Catra. She indulges herself, a moment, in thoughts of last night, of clawed fingers tangled in her hair and digging sweetly into her scalp, the rhythm of Catra's hips pressing desperately against her mouth. Adora is never entirely sure whether she's _good_ at this part or not. True, Catra has never complained, but she suspects that her wife is the one doing all the real work, holding her in place and grinding her crotch into Adora's face as she pleases. She's a little embarrassed but a _lot_ turned on by the way Catra takes what she wants so easily, knowing exactly what she needs and pursuing it with absolute focus, while Adora still struggles to stammer out her desires, always looking down and away, twisting her fingers up in the bedsheets nervously. 

She's getting better at that, slowly, mostly thanks to the fact that Catra has developed a habit of tying her down and refusing to touch her properly without instructions. Very specific, _detailed_ instructions. Adora's face grows even hotter remembering the _filth_ that had poured out of her mouth last night, the desperate, unrestrained begging Catra had reduced her to. 

She was terribly ashamed of her behavior, and couldn't wait to be ashamed of it again soon.

_Touch._

Adora could feel Catra _everywhere._ With their legs tangled together, Catra's tail wrapped loosely around her right arm, and her face pressed deep into the fur between Catra's breasts, Adora was in tactile heaven. She rarely slept with blankets anymore, choosing instead to rely on her wife's natural warmth to keep her company on all but the coldest nights. Catra was much, much softer than any blanket she had ever felt, and _so_ much warmer. Truthfully, Adora sometimes felt overheated when they cuddled, but she would rather die than admit it. She had endured— would happily endure again— far worse if it meant she could spend every night with Catra's fur against her skin, dragging delightfully against her with every subtle movement. With Catra, every accidental touch felt like a caress. Even just resting her head on Catra's shoulder felt like an unimaginable luxury. Adora had been so unused to softness when she first came to Brightmoon, struggling with the plush bed given to her, but she understood now it was just the wrong _sort_ of softness. This softness, the kind she found in the arms of the woman she had loved since before she knew what love was, suited her perfectly.

Adora sighs, slowly. There is nowhere to be, no great task to accomplish or terrible enemy to defeat. There is only her and the woman she loved and the life they have built together. As she goes back to the start of her list, she finds her eyes too heavy to open, her thoughts begging to grow hazy and indistinct, narrowing down further and further until all she is conscious of is the feel of Catra's body against hers, and then simply _Catra_ , and then for the first time in many years, Catra wakes to find her wife peacefully asleep.


	2. Words To Love By: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about twice as long as the last one and at least four times as horny, enjoy :)

Adora is so beautiful like this.

Of course, Catra is firmly of the opinion that Adora is beautiful all the time but she so rarely gets to appreciate her wife like this: still asleep, painted with golden late-morning light, a loose lock of hair falling across her face and disturbed with every breath. 

Her _wife._ It's not a word she's known very long, didn't learn it until the final days of the war when Spinarella and Netossa reunited. Despite that, it slots into place in her mind perfectly. She has a _wife_. She _is_ a _wife._ Adora and her got married in front of all their friends and promised to love each other and stay with each other, _forever_. Catra can feel the beginnings of a purr in her chest at the thought.

Right now, she wants nothing more than to tuck Adora's hair back behind her ear, gently stroke her cheek, but waking up before Adora is such a rare privilege that she doesn't want to risk ending this perfect moment.

Catra still can't believe how lucky she is to be here. After everything she's been through, everything she's _done,_ it seems impossible that she can really be waking up every morning next to the woman she loves. She hasn't earned this, doesn't _deserve_ this—

Catra stops that train of thought in its tracks, digging her claws into the sheets. _No. I deserve love. I deserve to be here. I deserve Adora._

The words ring hollow in her own head, and she can feel the beginnings of another maudlin self-loathing episode stirring in her gut. She closes her eyes, tries to empty her mind and thinks back to the mantra Perfuma helped her develop:

_Adora loves me._

_Adora wants me._

_Adora needs me._

_Adora forgives me._

_Adora's mine._

It helps a little, but not enough. She tries again, slower, taking her time to remind herself of the truth of every statement.

_Adora loves me_. 

This one is easy, now. Even though Catra still doesn't _understand_ how or why Adora can love someone like her, she's come to accept that she does. The whole "marrying-her-in-front-of-people" had finally put a rest to her insecurities on that front. Adora was an idiot, sure, enough of an idiot to somehow trip and fall into love with a screwup like her, but not enough of one to commit her whole life to a woman she wasn't truly in love with. 

Besides, whenever Catra starts to get the tiniest tinglings of concern that Adora might have changed her mind, all she needs to do is start purring, or nuzzle Adora's shoulder, or anything that Bow would perniciously describe as "cute" and she'll get that starry-eyed, dopey look and a verbal confirmation that yes, Adora is still very much in love with her.

_Adora wants me._

It took a long time for Catra to adjust to just _how much_ Adora wants to spend time with her. She used to push off invitations to spend time with Adora's friends (other than Bow and Sparkles, who were _terrible_ at taking no for an answer sometimes), certain that they were just polite formalities, that nobody _really_ thought the ex-horde-commander would be just the thing to liven up a drum circle or an iceball game or flower festival or whatever the Princesses were up to that day. It had all led to a terrible misunderstanding where Adora ended up thinking _Catra_ didn't want to spend time with _her,_ and ended up with them avoiding each other, being absolutely miserable about it, getting in an explosive and very public argument before finally resolving their differences in the Brightmoon training grounds and, later, their bedroom.

Since then Catra had made an effort to show up to more social gatherings—not _all_ of them of course, she could never be as much of a people-person as Adora—and even managed to enjoy herself at some of them. But really, whether the activity appealed to her was so much less important than seeing the smile on Adora's face at her presence, the feeling of her hand in Catra's, holding on tight and not wanting to let go.

_Adora needs me._

Catra remembers storming out the night before Adora went to the Heart of Etheria, remembers the argument they had. How Adora had said she needed her. How she'd refused to believe that.

It was still hard for Catra to swallow the concept, and in her mind she was pretty justified with that. After all, her wife is arguably the most powerful being in the known universe, can turn into an eight foot tall, impossibly sexy warrior woman at will, and is surrounded by friends who love her, would do anything for her. What can Catra possibly provide that she doesn't have already, can't get more easily somewhere else? Catra loves her, true, loves her with all the fierce strength her heart can muster, but how can her broken, stitched-together heart compare to the love of so many people who came by it more easily than hatred? 

_That isn't how love works,_ the memory of Perfuma's voice reminds her. _There are lots of different kinds of love a person can need. Love from your friends, love from your family, romantic love. Love from a specific person. Adora has so much love in her life, yes, but I saw her before she had it from you. There was always something missing without you, Catra. She needs to be loved in a way that only you can give her._

Catra tries so hard to believe that. She knows she's going to try and give it to her.

_Adora forgives me._

Catra didn't earn Adora's forgiveness. She knows that. Adora was so willing to drop everything and make nice after Catra did one, small good thing, ready to open her heart and love her again with no requirements. Catra had hurt her _so much,_ not just when they were enemies but as friends in the Horde, too. She knows now that she was never a good friend to Adora back then, she was angry and violent and jealous and possessive, she tried and often succeeded at sabotaging Adora's friendships with the other cadets, all because she was so afraid Adora might leave her. And then she did, and Catra only got _worse,_ angrier and more violent and _hateful._ She had tried to ruin Adora's life, left scars all over her body, captured and tortured her friends and even risked destroying the entire world just to get some measure of vengeance. 

And Adora forgave her. Just like that. All she had to do was say sorry, for the first time in her miserable life. 

It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel _earned._ But Catra understands, or at least tries to, that forgiveness isn't a thing you can earn. There is no amount of rebuilding, no amount of helping with refugees, no amount of putting up with Seahawk's _shit_ that can make Mermista forgive her for the destruction of Salineas. There's no set number of good deeds she can do to exchange for absolution, somehow. She can only have Mermista's forgiveness when, and _if_ she decides to give it.

That part was easy enough to grasp. The harder part, the part that Scorpia had helped explain to her while she was sobbing over a cup of tea, is that it works the other way. Forgiveness isn't earned, it's given, and if Catra tries to reject someone's forgiveness because she thinks it's too early or somehow undeserved, she's denying their right to choose when and how they forgive her just as much as if she demanded Mermista let her off the hook for the destruction of her home. 

It helps to understand that. Maybe it's messed up but it's easier for Catra to accept forgiveness when she knows it's not just for her benefit, that refusing it hurts the people she loves, too. And Catra is _done_ hurting people. 

_Adora's mine._

Catra always leaves this one out when she's going over the mantra out loud with Perfuma. She's not entirely sure that the flower princess would approve. After all, being possessive is part of what got her into this mess in the first place. 

But, it helps. It helps to know that her wife is objectively the most desirable woman in the known universe but that _Catra_ is the one that gets to have her. No one else gets to see Adora like this, peaceful and aglow in the morning sun. No one else gets to hear her soft, loving whispers late at night. No one else gets to touch that _incredible_ body of hers, hear the sounds she makes when she's losing herself in pleasure, see her eyes wide with lust and love and desire. As much as so many people want so much of Adora for themselves, there are parts (the best parts, in Catra's opinion) that belong to Catra and Catra alone. 

Oh and Catra knows _exactly_ how much they want Adora. She used to get horribly jealous watching giggling girls asking to feel She-Ra's biceps at every celebration, or seeing the way their eyes would linger on her wife's (incredibly well-proportioned) backside when she moves on to another group of admirers. Once, Catra had even had to put a stop to "welcoming ceremony" hosted by the Queen on a planet they'd visited when it became apparent it was actually a wedding, and not a particularly chaste one at that.

But Adora was _hers_ now, with the ceremony and the ring to prove it, and with the years the jealousy had faded into a quiet satisfaction. When the inevitable flock of young women surround She-Ra at festivals now, Catra simply smiles.

_Go ahead and get a good look,_ she thinks, _because tonight it's going to be_ my _name she's screaming, not yours._

Maybe it isn't entirely healthy, but dammit Catra has spent her whole life getting the things she wants ripped away from her and she'll be damned if she lets go of Adora again. For the first time in her life she gets to keep something, and Adora is _hers,_ and everyone knows it. 

Catra's managed to calm herself considerably by the time Adora wakes, eyes still heavy with sleep and wonderfully half-lidded.

"Hey, Adora," Catra says softly, finally reaching out to brush that mislaid lock of hair away from her beloved's face. "Sleep well?"

Adora hums affirmatively, nodding into Catra's chest, before pulling back, looking oddly disappointed. "I fell asleep again?" 

"Yeah," Catra chuckled, scratching gently at her scalp. "Were you trying not to?"

Adora pouts and for fuck's sake nobody should be allowed to look that fucking cute when they're being whiny. It's not fair.

"I wanted to watch you sleep longer…" she mutters, crossing her arms grumpily and that is just _too_ much, and Catra has to lean over and kiss her wife. She simply _has_ to.

Adora's lips are dry and her breath smells like shit and they're both still sleepy and their teeth bump together clumsily and Catra wouldn't change a thing.

"Well this way," Catra retorts somewhat breathlessly, "I got to watch _you_ sleep. Would you really want to deny me that privilege?" 

Adora giggles and Catra is just. So fucking stupid for this girl, it's ridiculous. 

"I guess not. But," Adora continues, a playful grin stealing over her face "since we're _both_ awake now, maybe we can find a better way to spend the morning than sleeping in." 

Catra should really make her elaborate. Draw the answer out of her, make her ask for exactly what she wants. But the alternative is having her hands on Adora _now_ and well, unlike her wife she doesn't have the strength of a magical godlike alter-ego to help her resist.

The surprised, overjoyed sound Adora makes when Catra _pounces_ and pins her wrists above her head removes absolutely any doubt in Catra's mind that she made the right choice, and the sight of Adora underneath her, flushed and messy and smiling so widely is enough to make her head swim.

_Adora loves me._

Catra starts slow, leaning in to give her wife a long, lingering kiss. It's gentle at first, because she's feeling gentle right now, and just because she plans on telling Adora how much she loves her a thousand times over today doesn't mean she doesn't want to make her _feel_ it, too. Adora kisses back the way she always does, parting her lips easily and inviting Catra in, small soft noises spilling out of her mouth and into Catra's as she loses herself in the sensation.

_Adora wants me._

Catra lets go of Adora's wrists, trusting her wife to keep them there until given permission to do otherwise, and begins to stroke her hands over Adora's sides. It's a constant debate, in their household, over which one of them is softer. Catra concedes that her fur gives her an advantage over most humans but maintains that the way Adora's flesh _gives_ under her fingertips, the way she can glide her hands across it with virtually no resistance more than compensates.

Adora doesn't accept that argument, of course, and they usually have to settle it by—well, doing exactly what they're doing now.

Catra still feels like proving some kind of point, though, and gently rakes the tips of her claws down Adora's side, delighting in the way her hips buck up in response. 

"Tell me what you want, princess. Come on. You know I'll give it to you."

Adora's eyes are already hazy with arousal, and it takes her a moment to find her words. "I just want you, baby. Only you."

_Adora needs me._

Her words make Catra's heart ache in the best possible way, but she's not about to let her wife off the hook that easily. "You've got me already, princess. What more could you possibly need?" 

Adora groans, frustrated, but doesn't move her wrists. " _Please,_ Catra."

Catra's grin only grows wider. "Tell you what, princess. Why don't I try loosening your tongue up a little first, see if that helps you be a little more specific." She doesn't give Adora a chance to reply before her mouth is on hers again, and her claws moving down to tease at Adora's thighs. 

And _damn,_ those thighs. Catra's pretty sure she would have happily let Adora win all their old battles if she has just tried crushing Catra's skull between her thighs instead of using that boring old sword, but whatever. Now she gets to use those thighs as earmuffs whenever she wants and she doesn't even have to die doing it. Seriously, how lucky can a girl get?

And they're not just muscular, soft, but _sensitive_ too. Catra's only just barely pricking Adora with her claws there but it's already got her whimpering, squirming under Catra's touch and grinding her hips upward seeking more contact. 

"You're being _so_ needy right now, princess." Catra whispers, nipping at her wife's ear. " _Good girl._ " 

That nets her a delicious full-body shudder and an unrestrained moan. Adora loves praise, craves that external validation. She always has, the way she chased every scrap of approval from authority figures in their childhood was one of the things Catra found most infuriating about her back then. She understands the impulse better now, understands how badly Adora _needs_ that approval, and being the one who gets to give it to her is frankly _exhilarating._ She never gets tired of spoiling her good girl.

Speaking of which, Adora's cries are becoming increasingly desperate, her hips stuttering awkwardly, seeking contact, and Catra thinks it might be time to offer her a little mercy. "Come on, princess. Be a good girl for me and ask for what you want. I know you can do that for me."

As expected, the praise overcomes any embarrassment Adora might have felt and she finally whimpers out "Please Catra, _please_ fuck me, please put your fingers inside of me I need it baby, _please_ I need you _so badly._ "

Well, how can Catra possibly say no to that?

_Adora forgives me._

Adora _screams_ when Catra's fingers slip inside her, her hands twisted up in the sheets and half-formed words pouring out of her mouth. Catra loves doing this to her, reducing her to complete incoherence, making her fall to pieces in her hands. She can see Adora slipping into that headspace, where pleasure overwhelms her thoughts and sense and she loses track of absolutely everything other than Catra. The way Adora talks about it, it sounds almost like meditation feels, although Catra doubts she'd be able to meditate with three fingers buried in her cunt like Adora has now.

_Maybe Perfuma could learn a thing or two about inner peace from her._

Adora's writhing underneath her now, eyes screwed shut and her breath coming in short gasps. She must be getting close.

"Open your eyes. I want to see you," Catra says, and Adora's eyes obediently flutter open and _oh,_ Catra was completely unprepared for the look she finds there.

Adora is looking at her with so much _trust,_ so much openness and vulnerability, like she knows, _knows_ with absolute certainty that she can trust the women above her to take care of her. That she can let go of absolutely everything and trust Catra to guide her to all the pleasure she so desperately wants to feel, to bring her back down again afterwards, to make sure she's _safe_ no matter what happens.

Catra isn't going to let her down.

_Adora's mine_.

Catra can feel Adora's inner walls twitching now, hear the ragged edge to her breaths, see the muscles in her neck tense as she approaches climax. 

Catra's going to make sure her wife gets there on _her_ terms, leave absolutely no doubt that she is in complete control of Adora's pleasure. And she knows exactly how to do it.

Catra leans in close, whispering in her wife's ear. "I know you're getting close, baby. I know you wanna come for me, and I'm gonna make that happen. You just be a good girl and let me take care of you, okay?" 

Adora's whimpers are coming so hard and fast now that Catra can't tell which, if any, of them are an acknowledgement that she's been heard, but she doesn't really care. She's got work to do.

Catra bites down on the junction of Adora's neck and shoulder, _hard,_ letting her fangs sink in just the way she knows Adora likes it, _needs_ it, not quite enough to draw blood but enough to mark her as Catra's territory for days to come. 

At the same time, she curls her fingers upward, pressing against that spot in the front of Adora's walls that she knows so well, and is rewarded for her efforts by a shuddering, primal howl and what sounds like an attempt at screaming Catra's name.

But of course, once is _never_ enough, not for Catra and _certainly_ not for her good girl, and Catra keeps thrusting her fingers, scraping her tongue over the purpling bite back on Adoras neck, whispering words of praise and love and encouragement and guiding her to a second, and then a third orgasm before Adora's arching back finally goes limp and she falls back to the bed, exhausted.

Adora is so beautiful like this. Adora is so beautiful and Catra is so, _so_ stupidly in love with her and is never letting her go again. She slowly withdraws her fingers, happily sucking them clean as Adora doesn't seem up to the task, and begins lavishing kisses on every inch of skin she can.

_Adora loves me._ "I love you."

 _Adora wants me._ "I want you."

 _Adora needs me_. "I always need you."

 _Adora forgives me._ "I am so grateful to have you."

 _Adora's mine._ "I am never letting you go."

Adora's eyes open again, and she whispers weakly "I'm not going anywhere."

Catra chuckles, blinking back the completely inexplicable tears in her eyes. "Nothing really bad can happen,"

"As long as we have each other," Adora finishes.

"Damn straight, princess," she says, laying down and wrapping her arms around the woman she has always loved.

_In fact,_ she thinks, _maybe something wonderful will happen._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan for this to have more than one chapter at first but the reception the first one got and my desire to finally write some dang smut for these characters won out. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, I plan on having a lot more (mostly filthy) fics for this ship coming out soon, and if you can follow me on Twitter @SleepySaph although honestly you'd probably regret doing so

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually supposed to be smut but Oops, All Yearning. Sorry I'll write some filth for these two eventually, I promise.


End file.
